Morning Confusion and Banana Bread Drama
This morning I was back facing the task of taking River to do the theatre drop-off, but this time I had planned something for him. We were going to a theatre show! I explained that we were going to the movie theatre (that’s what he calls it) to see a play about dinosaurs.
“To the museum, Andy’s museum.”
“No, the theatre.”
“NO MOVIE THEATRE, MUSEUM!”
So we were off to a win.
I managed to change the subject by getting Summer to make more banana bread, which River wanted to join in. It actually went OK, he doesn’t actually want to make the banana bread, he just wants to be included. He mixed a bit and seemed content.
Once the mixture was in the tin, a teaching moment occurred to me: Should mummy put the banana bread in the oven to cook or the fridge?
Stupid mummy. Obviously it goes in the fridge because River can’t bear food that is hot or even mildly warm. But it has to go in the oven to cook.
“NO OVEN! FRIDGE!”
I quickly put it in the oven and dealt with meltdown number two.
The Jacket Incident
Once we were calm, Summer spotted a jacket that had arrived the day before.
“What’s this?” she asked, holding it up.
Stupid mummy. “It’s a swimming jacket for River.”
“SWIMMING! RIVER GO SWIMMING!”
As he eagerly allowed us to put the jacket on.
We’re not going swimming, River. We’re going to the theatre.
“NO MOVIE THEATRE!”
And he kept the jacket on for the next hour.
But, I will not fail and we did make it to the theatre at 10:50am. We dropped off Summer and headed to our part of the theatre.
Front Row Miscalculation & Forty-Two Minutes
Now, I didn’t know the show was going to be in the main part of the theatre, so I had booked us front row seats (because in the other one, those are closest to the exit). River was very excited when he first came in and saw the stage and all the fake rocks. He wanted to go on stage and it was tough to settle him at first.
Juice and Pom-Bears opened, cheek-to-cheek with me, the lights went down and the show began.
The show was not quite what I had thought it was… It was about the true story of Mary Anning, the lady that discovered dinosaur fossils. The actress playing her was very good and told a detailed story about her life. When I booked it, I saw puppets and thought great, he’ll love that.
We had to wait for those. Forty-two minutes can be a long time.
Showtime Summary:
Challenging points:
- He moved seats eight times including a full trek to the top of the theatre and back. Each time shouting for my friend to move as well: “COME ON SADIE!”
- She went up and down twice to retrieve scattered snacks.
- He cannot whisper.
- He wanted to be on the stage and went for it so we had a five-minute scream break outside and then returned.
Highlights:
- He loves the theatre. The minute the lights went down: “WOW! AMAZING”
- Followed the story with running commentary:
“MUMMY, SHE’S AT THE BEACH!”
“IT’S A SNAIL!” “IT’S A FOSSIL”
“THERE’S A STORM!” - When Mary Anning fell in a landslide:
“ARE YOU OK? ARE YOU OK?” from the top of the theatre until she got up.
I spent the entire show exhausted, flustered, worrying what everyone was thinking. Should I have brought him? Am I ruining the show? What about the actors?
At the end, they invited kids to come on stage and look at the fossils. I was unsure and kind of wanted to leave but he’d already taken his cue and run on.
The cast could not have been kinder. The stage manager said he was her favourite audience member. They let him explore the props, bounce around, even go backstage. One of the actors, slowly and patiently explained how they made all their props and allowed him to touch everything. I kept reminding him to be gentle but they reassured me and said he was fine.
They said they hoped to see him on stage one day.
It was worth it. And he had every right to be there. Oh and there were some puppets at the end.
Would I take him to the West End? No, not yet. But a local production for kids?
Yes.
He loved it and they loved him.
Ear Defenders & Wine Plans
Quick trip to the park, back on the logs (see blog: The Night Before) and then the rain came. We popped into the school where I work, to borrow some ear defenders. We’re going on a plane in a week (won’t that be fun to write about) and I thought it was time to try them.
He wandered the empty classroom, created mess instantly, found a lollipop and was pretty pleased with himself. My friend and I grabbed a quick lunch while he had a short nap and we headed home in the rain.
I’m posting early today because I’m going out. Not just out, but out, out into ‘Big London’ as Summer calls it. An old friend contacted me on Instagram and asked if I wanted to meet up for a drink.
I haven’t had a night off in quite a while so I was very happy for the invite.
So, it’ll be a Dad evening. I’m assuming Episode 1 of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. but who knows?
Brief Reflection on Taking Autistic Children to Public Events
Taking River to a public event is layered with anticipation, preparation and the constant quiet voice in the back of my head asking, “Will this be too much?”
It can feel like a public test, not just of him but of my parenting, my resilience, my decision-making. I walk into these spaces aware that the world isn’t designed for him. I scan exits. Time snacks with military precision. I sit on edge, not because of his behaviour but because of everyone else’s possible reactions to it.
But what’s often questioned is why I continue to try. Why don’t we just stay inside with Youtube?
Because he deserves access to joy, to art, to theatre and parks and sensory fun. He deserves to experience the world in all its noisy, colourful, unpredictable wonder on his terms. And sometimes – most times actually, he surprises me. He found joy in moments I didn’t expect. He connected with the characters and the story even without puppets.
I don’t take River to public events to force him to behave neurotypically, I take him so he can live fully as himself in the world. Yes, with support. Yes, with strategies. Yes, with backup snacks and exit plans. But still, I show up. Not to push him, but to include him.
Today reminded me that inclusion isn’t about just opening the door, it’s about what happens when he steps inside. It’s about the actors who welcomed River to the stage, the staff who didn’t tut at his joy-filled outbursts and the friends who climb stairs to fetch juice without hesitation. That’s inclusion. That’s belonging.
Will I hesitate before booking the next event? Of course I will. But I’ll book it anyway. Because every time we go, we stretch the world a little more. Not just for him but for all the children like him. And for all the people learning to see him properly.
50 days of River 
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